Chapter 111. It wasn’t a wyvern…
Somewhere on the Eastern Continent.
The depths of the Demon Realm. The 4th Elder of Salvito was sitting alone in his dwelling, gazing at a crystal orb.
“Hmm, is there truly not a shred of falsehood in what you say?”
[Ye-yes, yes-yes. Yes, Elder. I-I remember it clearly. Not a shred of falsehood, so please…]
“This time, you’ve spilled everything without holding anything back, haven’t you?”
[Ye-yes-yes-yes.]
“Hmm…”
At Solion’s urgent reply, the 4th Elder stroked his chin and leaned back against his worn-out sofa. The sofa, patched together from the hides of monsters adapted to the Demon Realm, squeaked and sagged with a grinding sound.
Meanwhile, the Elder’s shrewd eyes deepened.
‘Desterow has perished.’
In truth, this was not a particularly surprising matter. Even the ancient fiend, Desterow, called a calamity, was not immortal.
Back in the ancient days, he was sealed away only because his overwhelming power could not be withstood, but that power had waned, dimmed, and faded over the long years of imprisonment. It was still sufficient to be called a calamity, but that did not mean he was utterly beyond comprehension.
The problem, however, was the circumstances.
‘…Why?’
The 4th Elder retraced in his mind the reports from Solion regarding the Great Hamern Forest.
‘There should have been… no variables.’
Base Camp No. 4. The mercenaries gathered there. Those vermin weren’t worth considering. No matter how many vermin gather, they cannot overturn the grand tide. Among them, there were but three who could be called variables.
‘Muspellun de Gigas Aderian.’
The Magician of Termination was the first.
‘Shine von Leman.’
The King Slayer was the second. And finally…
‘The unidentified magician.’
Name unknown, face concealed, thoroughly hiding his identity behind the Crest of the Waning Moon.
Yet, even so, they were only “possible variables.”
None of them could overturn the grand tide either.
Muspellun? When was it that he was called the Magician of Termination?
Now his brilliant prime was nothing but a faded shadow, reduced to a relic with a split core, waiting for the day of his death. This was something Salvito’s intelligence network had already confirmed. Every Elder-ranked Golden Mage knew of it.
Then Shine von Leman? Laughable.
Reduced to a Death Knight. Even maintaining his own transcendence would leave his existence precarious. The only one who might have held some possibility was the unidentified magician…
‘But it wasn’t him either.’
From what was heard, he seemed to be wearing the Crest of the Waning Moon.
‘Even if he were an old relic of the Devoured Moon, he could not have handled Desterow alone.’
Moreover, he was not one of the Devoured Moon’s relics at all.
As far as the Elder knew, among the old members of the Devoured Moon, there had never been a magician like him.
‘I can state it with certainty: there was no variable. And even those were no more than specks of possibility.’
“And yet… Desterow was destroyed, you say. By whom? How?”
Tok! Tok!
His wrinkled fingers tapped on the table. It felt like confronting a bizarre phenomenon that could not be explained by anything. Like a chicken existing without an egg, or an egg sitting there without a chicken. A feeling of being haunted by ghosts.
“Solion, this is your last chance. Is there truly nothing else that comes to mind? Speak out, no matter how trivial.”
[A-ah, uh, I… I-I…]
“…”
Solion stammered. The Elder fixed his gaze on the flickering crystal orb.
He had no great expectations, it had already been several days.
He had wrung Solion’s soul dry, again and again. Some might scoff that such a time was short, but the torment Solion had endured in those days was endless. And yet, no decisive clue had surfaced. Could one really appear now?
The Elder had merely thrown out the question out of frustration.
“Enough. I must have placed too much hope in you…”
[Th-there is! There is something!]
The Elder’s hand, which had been about to grasp the crystal orb, froze in midair.
“There is?”
[Ye-yes. I-it’s truly… truly trivial, but there is something.]
Was it fear of further torment? Solion babbled incoherently.
The Elder’s brows furrowed at first, but soon…
“…Hmm?”
A look of intrigue spread across his face.
“So you’re saying… there were times when Desterow’s seal weakened for no apparent reason?”
[Ye-yes. No Rite of Release was performed, nor did ancient wraiths roam freely. Nothing like that…]
“As if some ‘medium’ was approaching?”
[Ye-yes-yes! Th-that’s it exactly!]
“Hooh. A medium, is it?”
Now that was an interesting tale.
And what is a medium?
Something deeply connected with the sealed one, whose very existence unsettles the seal.
Surely there are such things.
In fairy tales or legends, like a sacred sword that only a chosen hero can draw, or a treasure vault that opens only for a particular bloodline.
Though the details may differ, those stories are but distorted retellings passed down orally. Their essence lies in the relationship between “sealed being” and “medium.”
Tok! Tok!
The Elder’s finger tapped the table again.
“A medium. Desterow’s medium… Could such a thing truly exist?”
A medium is something bound to the sealed one by fate. But Desterow came from an age so distant it had vanished from history.
‘And yet, a medium still exists?’
It was not easy to imagine.
In such an immense span of time, bloodlines would have thinned into nothing, and any object, no matter how mighty, would have crumbled to dust.
‘No, not necessarily all of them.’
The Elder’s finger struck the table with a crack!
‘If it were a grimoire, a demon sword, or some transcendent relic of that level?’
Those incomprehensible artifacts monopolized by the so-called noble houses.
If it were of that caliber, perhaps it was possible. Of course, he could not be one hundred percent certain.
Just as Desterow’s ancient ruins had endured, perhaps other ruins and relics from that era might also remain.
Still…
‘The greatest likelihood lies there.’
Having thought this far, the Elder gathered up his musings and fixed his gaze on Solion.
[E-Elder…? H-have I been of help? Please…?]
“Yes, you’ve been of great help.”
[A-ahh!]
Solion cried out in joy. The end of his hellish torment shimmered before his eyes, but that ecstasy lasted only a moment.
“For your merit, I shall not make you endure a full hundred years.”
[W-what…? Ahhhhhh!]
The crystal orb darkened pitch black. With a snap of his fingers, the Elder cut off Solion’s screams.
Merit was merit, and crime was crime. Whatever the process, releasing Desterow was worthy of praise, but the crime of wasting the Elder’s time over the past few days was by no means light.
Having cast Solion into hell, the Elder once more tapped on the table.
“If it is a medium… it could hardly be Muspellun’s disciple, could it? And Shine, even less so.”
If Muspellun had acquired a grimoire during his seclusion…?
The Elder shook his head. If he had, then regardless of his core’s condition, Desterow would never have awakened at all.
Then…A single figure flashed in his mind.
The masked magician.
“There is but one candidate.”
Tak! Tak! Tak!
Like a metronome, the even rhythm echoed through the cavern. Whether the masked one was master of a transcendent artifact, or owner of some ancient relic, he did not know.
But one thing was certain.
‘Either way… it is worth confirming.’
The Elder’s shrewd eyes gleamed like those of a serpent.
* * *
Meanwhile, at that very moment.
Arriving in the city of Hazen, Aster suddenly looked up at the sky.
“Why, sir?”
“All of a sudden…”
“All of a sudden?”
“I just feel… filthy.”
Aster muttered with his gaze fixed on the heavens. Rayleigh quickly jumped in.
“It wasn’t me, sir.”
“What wasn’t you?”
“Anything, sir.”
“…”
Such an abrupt denial. Aster turned his head. There is a saying: ‘A thief feels his own feet burning.’ In other words, the one who feels guilty without being accused is the thief.
Meeting that hazy gaze, Rayleigh flailed in panic.
“I-I swear, sir. I never cursed you, nor did I plot any vile schemes.”
“…”
“R-really!”
“Right? It wasn’t you?”
“O-of course not.”
His eyes softened somewhat. Rayleigh nodded desperately. Perhaps his sincerity came through.
“Good, then. I’ll believe you.”
Strangely, Aster set aside suspicion easily. Rayleigh let out a deep sigh of relief.
Of course, inside, he was seething.
‘That damn bastard…’
So young, yet all he ever learned was insolence. No matter how strong he was, wasn’t there still such a thing as proper decency in this world? But this brat respected no such thing.
From the Great Hamern Forest all the way to the city of Hazen.
How many times had he been beaten?
— “Don’t want to be my right hand anymore?”
If he slouched, he was beaten.
— “Thinking of running away? Why are you so cheerful?”
If he smiled, he was beaten for smiling.
And that wasn’t all.
If he rose at night to relieve himself, Aster would thrash him mercilessly, accusing him of trying to flee.
‘Damn it, what sin did I commit in a past life for this?’
Rayleigh sighed heavily at his lot. It had been a gamble of life itself. And the odds had seemed high. Think about it: a magician who had reached such a realm, who had slain the Master of the Swamp, how common could such a man be?
And yet, what a joke this was.
‘An Academy student? An Acadeeemyyy student?’
That his master’s true identity was a mere Academy student? For Rayleigh, it was unbelievable. No, it was a reality he simply did not want to believe.
Shattered dreams of wealth and splendor, of luxury and indulgence. Had he known, he would have chosen a peaceful rural life, become a village elder, live modestly but comfortably, long and steady.
But alas, what could he do?
The water was already spilled. The past could never be undone. He had no choice but to endure.
Of course, it wasn’t entirely a loss.
“…”
“Why are you staring like that?”
“N-no reason, sir.”
Rayleigh, who had been staring at Aster, frantically waved his hands.
‘He’s definitely… no ordinary Academy student.’
That much had been obvious from his realm of power, but what convinced Rayleigh was not that, it was material proof.
From the Hamern Forest to Hazen.
They used warp gates with no trouble at all. Whenever Aster flashed a certain gleaming paper, the haughty gatekeepers would startle and step aside…
A Semi-Royal Ticket.
A glimpse was enough, Semi-Royal Ticket!
Something only royals, or those directly granted by royals, could possess!
Aster himself had admitted he was a gutter rat from the Black-White Zone, so it wasn’t about a powerful family.
‘Still, it means he has something…’
For Rayleigh, it was a glimmer of hope.
‘The game’s not over yet. Not yet.’
What he had thought the “sure bet” turned out to be the “long shot.” But the cards weren’t fully revealed yet. Perhaps he could reap even greater winnings than if it had been the sure bet from the start.
Who knows?
Perhaps that insolent brat… no, that master… was some great figure connected to the imperial family. Of course, if so, freedom would be out of the question with such a rigid nature, but power and influence could be enjoyed.
As Rayleigh steeled his heart…
“…”
Aster looked at him with pity.
From his eyes alone, Aster could see exactly what happy fantasies Rayleigh was spinning. Ever since catching sight of the Semi-Royal Ticket, his attitude had changed, it was impossible not to notice.
And Shine was no different.
“…”
Standing in the shadows with his hood pulled low, Shine’s eyes had burned with rage and resentment. Yet those flames vanished the moment he too saw the Semi-Royal Ticket.
‘Yes, hope all you want.’
The greater the hope, the deeper the disappointment, the greater the shock. Pain makes people stronger. Perhaps both of them would grow tougher through this.
At any rate…
“…Hoo.”
Aster smiled as he took in the view of Hazen.
“I have returned.”
Of course, no one welcomed him.
Only a cry rang down from the sky.
“Piiiiiik―!”
“Shreeeeek―!”
A shadow shot down like a bolt from the blue sky. It wasn’t a wyvern… It was either an owl or a horned owl, one of the two.
The bird dove to perch atop Aster’s head, but with a swish! Aster’s hand caught its throat in midair.
“Skweeeek!”
“Breakfast No. 1?”
It was a summons from his senior, the Headmaster.
